


Nightowl

by MagdaTheMagpie



Series: Marvel & Magic [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Investigations, Online Dating, POV Phil Coulson, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, SHIELD, SHIELD agent Hermione Granger, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-07-08 17:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15934700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagdaTheMagpie/pseuds/MagdaTheMagpie
Summary: Phil has had many ridiculous birthday gift in his life. He suspects his agents have a competition going on. Enters Tony Stark with a membership card to the Lonely Hearts Link dating site...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ANGSWIN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANGSWIN/gifts).



> Written for the Marvelously Magical Bingo 2018!   
> Square N2: Online Meeting.
> 
> I gift this fic to the marvelous ANGSWIN who inspired the pairing, which inspired the rest, and I swear I tried to write some fluff but it turned into this *monster* of a fic!  
> Anyway, sounds like you had a shitty day, so I hope you enjoy <3

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Phil asked, holding with no amount of disgust the membership card for the Lonely Hearts Link.

“Surely you've had the bees and flowers talk by now, Agent Agent,” Stark said and disappeared as abruptly as he'd come. 

“And this is a restricted area!” Phil shouted.

He didn't know why he even bothered. Stark's laugher echoed back in answer, and that was that, as usual. He was as infuriating as he was brilliant, but his heart was in the right place he supposed. More or less. Phil sighed and sat back at his desk. Opening the drawer  of his desk where his stashed all the other ridiculous gifts. He wondered, not for the first time, if everyone had a competition going at his expense, what with the unicorn-shaped dildo, the fuzzy pink handcuffs, bullet proof underwear, a pretty good drawing of him and Captain America… doing things that were better left unsaid… Stark signing him up on a dating site was just another box to tick in the “ridiculous birthday gifts received” category. Before he could stash the card in his drawer of shame, the login info caught his attention. His pseudonym in particular.

“AgentAgent? Really?”

Phil had to wonder if Stark even knew the meaning of confidential. Now, instead of going home after a long day's work, he was going to have to go through the bother of logging in to this useless website, only to delete all traces of himself. The Lonely Hearts Link web page was as nauseous in all its gaudy pink colour as he had feared, but Phil held strong and smashed in the keys to enter the stupid password: needstogetlaid.

Funny. Real funny. But it got worse: Stark had put a  _ picture _ of him. And a good one too. Very recognizable. Phil gritted his teeth, then saw his profile had been fully filled in excruciating and absolutely correct details as well: how he liked to take his coffee, what he was reading at the moment, his favourite movie, colour, dish, season… 

“Fucking hell, Stark!” 

No way had Ironass done this himself. He would have abandoned halfway through out of sheer boredom and filled it in with made up information worthy of a four year old. Phil snapped his fingers in realization: Stark must have sicced his damn AI on him. He was going to have words with that snooty, incorporeal voice, just he wait. Stark was a lost cause, but maybe Jarvis could still be reasoned with.

What was more surprising, and a little horrifying, was the sheer number of messages he got in his inbox. Just out of curiosity, he opened it. Yep. Crazy people, as expected. And dick-pics. So many godamn dick-pics. Phil methodically erased every piece of information that had been entered on his profile, leaving only blank spaces behind. He had to wait forty eight hours to delete the account itself however, so, out of frustration, he deleted the whole inbox, feeling slightly less dirty as he did so.

A shudder ran through him as the realization sank in that Stark had effectively just pimped him out, on a virtual level. Phil was going to make him pay for that. He didn't know how yet, but he would. That night, before he went to sleep, he set a mental alarm to remind him to delete that abomination in forty hours.

 

+++

 

Phil had finished early for once. Clint had actually handed in his mission report and hadn't even been wounded. He had checked. Natasha was still infiltrating Stark Industries and Stark himself was not dying or making an ass of himself. Evil itself had taken a day off, it seemed, so it was barely even dark out when Phil opened the door to his flat. He was a bit at a loss of what to do with himself, so he decided “nothing” actually sounded like a good idea. The couch greeted him in its overstuffed cushions and a sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes. 

Some time later, he was startled awake. On his feet, gun in hand, searching for danger, Phil recalled it was only his mental alarm reminding him to delete The Abomination that was his Lonely Hearts account. Worth getting up for, he thought as he turned on his laptop and went to the kitchen while it hummed to life. He needed coffee. Or whisky.

In the end, Phil settled for an Irish Coffee. He was glad to see all his profile information had remained blank. He had half-expected Jarvis to refill it before he could delete his account. His inbox, on the other hand, boasted a new message. 

_ Really?  _ he thought as he clicked on the pink envelope.  _ How desperate do you have to be to send a dick-pic to a blank profile? _

There was a message from Nightowl that read:  **Are you safe?**

That had to be Stark. 

The message then repeated in a pink chat box that popped up in the middle of the screen like an obnoxious person screaming in your face. Yeah, that  _ had _ to be Stark.

 

**Nightowl: Are you safe?**

**AgentAgent: What are you playing at now?**

 

Three little dots then danced on his screen. “Nightowl” was replying, but it took him a full minute to do so. Strange. Stark was many things, but slow or hesitant weren't amongst them. Intrigued, Phil waited. He had nothing better to do for once.

 

**Nightowl: Your profile presented an anomaly. I am only verifying everything is alright with you.**

 

Phil hummed. His instincts were telling him something was not quite right. Intriguing. He might not have to resort to watching inane TV shows tonight as distraction.

 

**AgentAgent: Do you work for Lonely Hearts?**

**Nightowl: Not as such, no.**

 

Ha. Guessed as much. It was easy enough to verify, which might be why Nightowl had not tried to lie to him. What he did not know was who this person was and what he was after.

 

**AgentAgent: Outside consultant?**

**Nightowl: In a manner of speaking.**

**AgentAgent: So not in an official capacity.**

 

The pause was longer this time. This person was cautious. Smart and educated, judging by the way they expressed themself. Maybe he could recruit him, if he wasn't an unrepentant criminal or a raving lunatic of course. SHIELD  _ had _ standards.

 

**Nightowl: No.**

**AgentAgent: Do you work for the Bureau?**

**Nightowl: What?**

**AgentAgent: I just assumed that you worked for the FBI since that is where the cybercrime division is located. But I can now see I was mistaken, which leaves me with so many more questions.**

**Nightowl: I should bid you goodnight. You're obviously not the person I was looking for.**

 

Phil stared at his screen. No dancing dots. Nightowl had left. Not wanting to leave it at that, he clicked on his profile, only to find it as bare as his own.

“This just keeps getting more and more mysterious. It's like you  _ want _ me to follow you down the rabbit hole, Mr Nightowl,” he mused to his empty apartment.

Now, he wasn't bad at hacking, per say, but it would take him days to track down someone like Nightowl. Good thing he knew a certain someone with an overzealous AI who owed him for displaying his life in minute detail to a bunch of strangers in the first place. Confident he would get to the bottom of this, Phil slept like a rock that night.

 

+++

 

“Agent Agent, what a disturbing sight to be greeted by so early in the morning.”

Obviously, he lacked both sleep and caffeine. Dark smudges under his eyes, his goatee not as neat as usual and clothes so rumpled  Phil wondered if he should intervene and drug him to sleep, once he got what he came for.

“Likewise, Mr Stark. I came to thank you for your birthday gift.”

“Really?” 

So much doubt packed in such a short word.

“Yes. Nice little puzzle.”

“Yeah, I don't think you're using that gift correctly, Agent. Or are the rumours true and you really are a robot. And if you are, I'm kind of jealous and _really_ behind on my homework,” Stark said as he poked him in the chest with a finger covered in dark grease.

Phil pretended it didn't annoying the shit out of him.

“I need to find a person who contacted me via the website.’

“Aha! Stalking. My kind of man. Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Please assist my good friend Agent Agent in finding his soulmate, and then forward my most sincere apologies to them. I, in the meanwhile, need to go crash somewhere and I mean that literally. Testing out the new repulsors, you see. I just know I'm going to crash. It's going to be awesome.”

“Of course, sir.”

Phil watched Stark go with a frown of worry. The man wasn't even  _ walking _ straight for crying out loud. Letting him fly a weaponized armor over a densely populated area seemed more than a little hazardous.

“Jarvis, are you sure you should-”

“It's taken care of, sir. Dummy is setting fire to the new prototype as we speak.”

Shouts echoed up from the stairs Stark had just disappeared down before a siren blared loudly and smoke drifted up. Then the shouting resumed, Stark threatening to take Dummy apart to repair the damage he caused with his spare parts.

“He's not really going to, is he?”

“It is highly unlikely. Sir has made similar threats to Dummy 457 times, and Dummy has yet to lose a single screw.”

Phil smiled.

“Tell Dummy he's a good bot for me, won't you?”

“Of course, sir. May I enquire about your search?”

Phil wished he could hire Jarvis. Now  _ he _ would make a perfect desk agent.

“Could you find me the identity of the user named Nightowl on that website you signed me up on, the Lonely Hearts Link. We were in contact last night via chat messages if it helps.”

“Of course. One moment please.”

It literally took just a moment. Phil hadn't even had time to blink.

“The information given is fabricated, and the money trail comes to a dead end at a bank called Gringotts. However, Nightowl is currently logged on and I have traced the location down to a library in central New York. Would you like me to hack into the webcam?”

“Please,” Phil replied and looked at the nearest screen as it turned itself on.

The pale face that filled the screen wasn't the sort of person Phil had expected to see. It was a woman, not that he had dismissed the possibility, but it was statistically less probable. But more importantly, she looked too… normal. The sort of person you could easily overlook, which he knew himself came in very handy. 

“You're positive this is Nightowl?”

“It is the person currently logged in as Nightowl, yes. Would you like me to give you the coordinates?”

“No, thank you, Jarvis. I know where she is.”

There was only one library close by, and he could be there in less than fifteen minutes. 

 

+++

 

His heart pounded as he entered the building, certain he would miss her for some reason, but she was still there, clicking away on her keyboard and muttering now and then, which drew stares from the other library goers that she, in turn, completely ignored. 

Amused, Phil casually walked up to her to read over her shoulder. She was logged on to Lonely Hearts, that particular shade of pink unmistakable, and she was insulting half a dozen people while interrogating a couple more. Her spine suddenly went ramrod straight and she whirled around to face him, causing her old chair to creak in protest.

“Piss off,” she snapped after giving him a once over. “Whatever you're selling, I'm not interested.”

Phil chuckled. He'd always thought the British were more subtle and phlegmatic, but Nightowl seemed to have fresh run out of patience.

“Is that any way to greet a friend?”

“Friend?” she scoffed. “I don't know you. Now, if you don't mind, I'm busy.”

“Ah yes. Still investigating those Lonely Hearts profiles, I see. What interest do the British have in our poor citizens in search of love, I wonder?”

Her sharp eyes narrowed. Phil could almost see the cogwheels turning behind those shrewd eyes, until she stiffened almost imperceptibly.

“You're AgentAgent.”

“A pleasure to meet you in person, Nightowl.”

“You often stalk people you meet online? I seem to have underestimated your level of dangerosity, but I had assumed you were an officer of the law.”

Phil hummed noncommittally at what he didn't want to admit just yet before answering.

“Only those people who pique my interest.”

“And I have that dubious honour?”

Phil smiled blandly at her, wondering how she would react. Nightowl turned towards her screen again, and he thought at first she was just going to ignore him, which wouldn't work, but she closed all the open tabs, then the computer, and stood to look up at him, not disturbed in the least that he towered over her.

“I don't appreciate being followed or spied on. Leave me alone.”

She walked away but Phil was right behind her. Did she really think it would be that easy?

“Go away,” she hissed over her shoulder.

Phil smirked. He was actually having fun. It was rare for him not to have a clue about a person's intentions, but he couldn't get a good read on this woman, which is why he decided follow her. To father intel. But then, in his experience, plans rarely went without a hitch, and he hit a major one when she somehow managed to lose him.  _ Him. _ Senior agent of SHIELD. Fury's fucking right-arm man.

“Well I'll be damned,” he said, turning on himself to inspect his surroundings once more, but there was no trace of her.

One minute Nightowl was walking a couple of steps ahead of him, then someone tripped between them. Phil had only looked away for five seconds and she was gone. Vanished into thin air.

Definitely interesting. He was so recruiting her to SHIELD. Even if he had to drag her in kicking and screaming. It wouldn't be the first time.

Back at the office, he quickly dispatched orders, agents and paperwork to maximum efficiency before using the vast resources at the tips of his fingers to find Nightowl and what she was up to. The security cameras on the street where she had given him the slip did not help. She was there, then she wasn't, as if she had literally disappeared, like… she had become invisible. She could be a mutant or an enhanced human. He seemed to stumble on them more and more these days. Neat power to have for one of their spies. He could already picture her in a SHIELD uniform.

Phil cleared his throat, shaking off the daydream, then logged into Lonely Hearts. He couldn't believe he hadn't deleted the thing yet, but it was now his only link to Nightowl, so it was serving its purpose, in a way. Her profile indicated she was logged on, so he imagined she had gone straight to another library or coffee shop to continue her investigation.

**AgentAgent: Well done. It's rare for anyone to give me the slip.**

**Nightowl: You're a stubborn one. What do you want? I'm not doing anything illegal.**

**AgentAgent: Debatable. You appear to be a British agent gone rogue on US soil. I could have you arrested on grounds of suspicious activity.**

Phil bit his lip when she didn't answer immediately. Maybe he'd come on a bit too strong there. He didn't want to scare her so badly she ran off.

**Nightowl: Don't you have better things to do with your time?**

So he had merely pissed her off. Impressive. She wasn't your Average Joe for sure.

**AgentAgent: Just doing my job.**

He could picture her fuming from across his screen, holding herself back not to hit it with her keyboard as she tried, and failed, to get rid of him at every turn.

**Nightowl: I don't have time for your games.**

She logged off. Phil sat back in his chair then swiveled around when he heard familiar footsteps approaching his office, just in time to come under the scrutiny of one dark eye.

“You look… chipper, today. Stop it. It's annoying the shit out of me.”

“Good morning to you too, director. How may I help you?”

Fury never came himself to his office if it wasn't to ask for a favour. For anything else, Phil was summoned. 

“Stark.”

_ Oh no. _

“Yes?”

“He's suing us for copyright infringement. Make him stop.”

“Literally?”

“No.”

“Shame. Have you tried Miss Potts?”

“She agrees with Stark.”

“That's a first.”

Fury only grunted in agreement.

“Fine, fine. I'll…find a way,” Phil agreed, not that he really had the option not to. One did not simply say no to Fury unless one was suicidal. Or a genius billionaire with more lawyers than a dog had fleas. Unfortunately, Phil was neither, so he would have to be sneaky. 

 

+++

 

“You again? I have a policy against adopting strays, just so you know.”

Phil tried very hard not to roll his eyes at Stark as it would not serve his purpose. Being blunt on the other hand… 

“You're suing SHIELD.’

“And rightly so. You have no business using my repulsor technology, you vultures. Reverse engineering is still stealing.”

“Fury is not happy.”

“Good. Is that why you're here? He sent you to parlay?”

“Yes, but I can see it's a pointless endeavour. However, since I'm here, I'd like to use Jarvis to track someone down.”

Stark chuckled.

“Bird got away? Now that's interesting. I know for a fact you're like a dog with a bone when you're babysitting. Jarvis?”

“I will update the whereabouts of Nightowl on your phone whenever she logs in, Agent Coulson, if you don't mind my taking the liberty.”

“It's fine. Thank you, Jarvis.” 

“So what's she like?”

Phil raised an inquisitive brow at him.

“What? I can't help but be curious to know what sort of woman catches the interest of someone like you. Call it morbid curiosity, if you will.”

“My interest is purely professional.”

“You met her on a dating site.”

“My point stands. But, if you must know, she's as mysterious as she is rude.”

“Mysterious, eh? What did she do? Use a paper clip instead of the government-issued staplers? You should arrest that monster!”

“No, but I suspect she can make herself invisible.”

Phil knew he had him, hook, line and sinker.

“Invisible… as in… invisible? See through or chameleon? Tangible? How fast is the transition?”

Phil shrugged. He really had no idea and he might even be wrong about her turning invisible.

“I need to meet her! I've been trying to make something like that work for  _ ages _ .”

“Yes, well, I need you to stop suing SHIELD but that's never going to happen.”

“You're evil.”

“I'm sure we can come to a mutually beneficial understanding,” Phil said with a smile.

They did, after much arguing. Fury wouldn't be too happy about the terms but Phil was sure it would work out for the best in the end. His only problem now was to find Nightowl and get her to meet Stark at least once. With Jarvis's assistance, it shouldn't be too difficult. The new coordinates he had given him lead to a coffeehouse, as he suspected, so he headed straight for it. Unfortunately, she spotted him almost immediately when he looked through the window. She bolted for the back door. Phil made for the back alley directly instead of chasing after her, hoping to cut her off, but once more she had vanished.

He should have been more cautious as he approached, but he had imagined she would be just as engrossed by her screen as the last time. Rookie mistake. He would get her next time. 

It was a couple of hours before he got an update from Jarvis, which was an excellent excuse to dump Fury who was in a fouler mood than usual after he'd explained the deal he'd struck with Stark. Honestly, the man was never satisfied.

Nightowl had been sneakier this time and “borrowed” a computer in an unused classroom of a highschool. Phil had to pull all the tricks in the book to be able to get close enough to her without her noticing and when she did, it was too late. He was too close and blocking the only exit.

Tension ran through Nightowl as clear as day, as well as hesitation. The way her right hand twitched as if she was going to reach for a gun… it was a possibility, so Phil reacted on instinct, twisting her arm behind her back as he pulled her against him.

“We meet again,” he said, keeping his voice level even as his prisoner tried to twist away.

“Let. Me. Go. I haven't done anything.”

“I've just caught you red-handed trespassing on state property. I'm taking you into custody.”

“You've got to be bloody kidding me! This is harassment, plain and simple!”

“We'll see about that.”

Phil was quite amused as he walked her out in handcuffs. He could almost feel her hatred burn him where he kept a grip on her arm. He had one of their cars pick them up and take them to a nondescript office space they owned. He wasn't about to take her to headquarters when he knew next to nothing about her. After patting her down for a gun, and finding none, he cuffed her to the table in the interrogation room and sat in front of her.

“This is a waste of time,” she muttered.

Phil smiled and waited while a clock ticked loudly behind him.

“Who are you anyway?”

He flashed his teeth.  _ Finally _ .

“Glad you asked. I'm Agent Phil Coulson with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.”

“SHIELD? Smart.”

Phil nodded, glad someone was not mocking the name for once.

“Sounds very official and all, even if it doesn't mean squat to me, but maybe that was the point? Why am I here, Agent Coulson?”

“Wouldn’t it be more polite for you to introduce yourself first?”

“I doubt that will give me answers, only more questions.”

“Alright. The alternative is sitting here in silence  until one of us cracks, and I never do.”

Phil sat back in his chair, crossing his ankles, completely at ease. He only had to wait six minutes and thirty seven seconds during which he had a perfect opportunity to observe Nightowl in minute detail under the harsh neon light. She was rather small and underfed, not taking care to eat or sleep properly if he had to guess. Her clothes were sensible, a bit out of fashion, her cardigan hand-knitted with, he only now noticed, owl patterns in a neat row all around her neckline and cuffs. Nightowl indeed. Dark curly hair, dark brown eyes, very pale skin, pouty lips and a smattering of freckles across her nose. Nothing stood out, but the combined effect was quite appealing in his opinion. A subtle beauty, like the morning fog, and just as mysterious.

“You have to let me go,” she finally pleaded, her shoulders dropping from confrontation to defeat. “Please.”

“Why? What is going on with the Lonely Hearts?”

She stared at him, trying to read him he guessed, and she might have succeeded because she nodded to herself. Phil was suddenly very afraid he had just let a mind reader ransack his brain.

“A murderer. A serial killer, as you Americans would call him. British originally, but he migrated here a couple of weeks ago and I have to stop him.”

Phil blinked at her. How did she always manage to surprise him?

“Why you?”

“His second victim was a friend. A very dear friend. I promised myself to make him pay.”

“How do you know he's in the States now?” 

“You already have one of his victims, not that you would know what to look for, but I do because he's still using the same M.O. He lures his victims on the Lonely Hearts dating site using the profile from his previous victim. Or he did. He didn't think I would follow him here so he had to give up the last profile, but I know he will just steal another and continue. I'm looking for him. I know him. The way he communicates, hooks his targets… I'll find him.”

“And kill him?”

She had the audacity to shrug. It was clearly a yes, and a very nonchalant one at that. It wasn't even bravado. She had killed before.

“Who do you work for?”

“No one. I resigned.”

“So you're pursuing a serial killer on your own? Is this a hobby of yours?”

Her face froze and then, unexpectedly, she burst out laughing. It changed her whole face, suited her better than the grim expression she usually wore. Maybe she had been happy once upon a time.

“Yes, you could say that I suppose.  _ Now  _ will you let me go before he kills again? Because if he does while I'm locked up here, that blood is on your hands.”

Phil hummed in thought for a couple of seconds.

“No.”

“No?” she repeated with outrage.

“I’ll offer you a deal that will benefit us both. You let me help you catch your killer and I'll even close my eyes if you're still set on disposing of him. Believe me, with the resources at my disposal you will have him at your mercy in no time.”

“And in exchange?” she sounded cautious but not as opposed to the idea as he had expected.

“Your name. And you simply  _ must _ meet a friend of mine.”

The sound of stunned disbelief was like music to his ears. She agreed of course, but the name she gave was obviously a fake one. 

“You expect me to call you Jane? Or Miss Doe?”

She shrugged, as if her name was of little consequence, but he rather thought it was the exact opposite and she was fiercely protective of her identity. Phil even tried to trip her up by having her sign a contract of their agreement but her signature was an illegible mess of loops. As he tried to decipher it, he could have sworn the documents flashed gold for just an instant but it might just have been the neon light playing tricks on the paper.

“Coffee,” he told her as he finally uncuffed her and put his cuffs back in his pocket.

“What?”

“I'm in dire need of coffee and I'm positive you are too.”

She nodded cautiously, as if expecting a trap, but when he merely held the door open for her to leave the SHIELD office for the busy street of New York, she let her guard down. Perfect. He took her to the nearest Starbucks and ordered his usual while she seemed flustered by all the people and choice, so he told her her he would wait for her outside. Testing the waters, amongst other things. If she willingly came back, he wouldn't have to keep such a short leash on her. Metaphorically speaking of course. But, as most of his ploys, he has others reasons… 

“Hermione,” he read off her cup when she returned, quite willingly, with her steaming cup in hand. “Pretty name, quite unusual.”

Hermione scowled at him.

“Is that why- Urgh! You're infuriating!” she said and stalked off.

“Hermione!” he called, enjoying the sound of her name as it rolled off his tongue over the hustle and bustle of the street. “It's this way actually!”

She stopped and turned around with flushed cheeks, walking back over to him.

“I’m starting to regret signing that contract. Go on then, show the way. The sooner we finish this, the sooner I'll be rid of you.”

Phil took her straight to Stark's place. That way, he sealed the deal he had made with the mad scientist and Jarvis could help her find her target. Two birds, one stone. Stark must have been on the lookout for him because he let them in himself. 

“Found your bird?”

Phil nodded.

“Hermione, this is Mr Stark, the person I wanted you to meet. Stark, this is Hermione Nightowl.”

She scowled at him.

“I am not calling you Jane Doe,” Phil deadpanned.

It was morbid and didn't suit her at all.

“Wait,” Hermione said, turning back to look at Stark. “Stark? Tony Stark? The Ironman?”

“In the flesh, princess. So, is it true you turn invisible? Show me your tech. It is tech, right? You're  not a half-chameleon mutant or something?”

“How do you even know about that?”

“Agent Agent told me. So?”

“People really call you that?” she asked Phil instead of showing Stark her invisibility trick.

“Only him. The Lonely Hearts was his idea of a prank birthday gift.”

“No prank. I finally found you a woman. You should be thanking me. No, worshipping me. Actually, I expect you two to name your firstborn after me.”

“What?” Hermione squawked.

Phil coughed to hide his unease.

“As I said, his idea of a practical joke. You get used to his special brand of humour after a while, or so I'm told.”

“Can we get back to this invisibility business?” Stark insisted, all but vibrating with impatience

“I can't-” Hermione winced, then doubled over in pain, her next words garbled beyond recognition, twisted out of her into a sound of deep rooted pain he knew only too well.

Without a second thought, Phil slipped his arms around her so she wouldn't fall to the floor, but she quickly recovered, batting him away as if he was an annoying mosquito. He insisted she sit anyway, the goosebump her unexpected cry of pain had caused only starting to recede. Surprisingly, Stark reappeared  with a glass of fresh water that Hermione accepted with a thanks.

“You alright?” Phil asked with concern. She had seemed fine up till then. “Do you need anything?”

“No… thanks. It was just a side effect of the contract.”

Phil's eyebrows rose in surprise.

“The contract I made you sign? How can a piece of paper do that to you?”

“Contracts are magically binding for me. I knew I should have read the small prints, but I'm seriously running out of time because of you.”

“Whoa, pact with the devil much? SHIELD is really turning evil, isn't it?” Stark cackled.

“It's nothing to do with us,” Phil snapped back, because there was a place and time for poor humour and now wasn't it. But Phil might have missed a memo about hypnotic or soul-binding contracts, or  something of the sort. There were  _ so many  _ memos, but there was a slight possibility. 

“Right?” he asked Hermione, just to be on the safe side.

She nodded.

“I didn't just have to meet this friend of yours, did I?”

“No. He wants to study how you turn invisible. I saw it on the security footage when you escaped from the library.”

“Alright, since I don't have a choice.”

Hermione took out a length of polished wood that should not have been able to fit in the pocket of her cardigan, not to mention he'd patted her down in that exact area and not felt it. She tapped the tip of it on her own head then vanished from the head down. It took a few seconds, but with everyone focused on the distraction in the street the other day, no one had noticed, and the crowd had hidden the rest of her from the scrutiny of the cameras.

Stark went berserk over the feat, taking readings of all sort and poking her here and there, making her laugh. Ticklish, he added to his ever growing file on Nightowl. Those two were soon getting along like a house on fire, chatting and laughing, much to his chagrin. He wasn't as insufferable as Stark at his best, so he wondered what it was about him that rubbed Hermione the wrong way.

“You’re friends with Tony Stark?” she asked him when Stark had finally released her to go play in his lab with his new data. 

Phil made a mental note that Stark might be invisible the next time they met. Life was about to get much more difficult for him. It had been hard enough keeping and eye on the man before, and next to impossible to keep him out of SHIELD's restricted areas, but he only had himself to blame for that he supposed. With any luck, Stark's technology and Hermione's… he wanted to say magic all the while feeling ridiculous for thinking so, but there were mutants and they hadn't yet been able to prove fairies  _ didn't _ exist… but with any hope, those two wouldn't mix well.

“I would have come if you'd only told me that's who you wanted me to meet. No need for all this cloak and dagger business.”

“I had no idea you were one of his groupies,” Phil replied stiffly.

“I wouldn't say groupie, but the man is a bloody genius. It's incredible what he can do. The arc reactor alone is leagues beyond any other-”

She babbled on for a few minutes about Stark's brains, so at least her interest was purely academical.

“I'll introduce you to another piece of his brilliance then. Jarvis?”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Nightowl.”

Hermione looked up at the ceiling and then checked her surroundings, before looking back at him with a puzzled expression..

“Jarvis is Mr Stark's A.I. He doesn't have a corporeal form.”

“Oh. He's like a talking computer?”

“A bit more than that. Jarvis has been the one who helped me track you down. He can do the same for the person you're after.”

“Really?”

“It will be my pleasure, Miss Nightowl. And may I extend my deepest apologies from Mr Stark.”

“Why?”

Phil rolled his eyes, knowing what was to come. He'd thought Jarvis would have more sense than that, but he supposed it had been a direct order from his creator.

“For helping Mr Coulson find his soulmate,” Jarvis deadpanned. “My apologies, sir.”

“We’re not- Why would he- You know what? Never mind.”

Hermione then gave Jarvis all of her information on the person she was after: his preferred profiles to hide behind, those he contacted, his writing pattern, common misspellings, when he logged on and when he usually set up his murder-dates. It was frighteningly detailed. She was a formidable intelligence gatherer. Phil wanted her. On his team, that is. He wanted her on his team. Under him. Under his orders. Damnit. What was wrong with him? He blamed Stark for putting ideas in his head.

“There are currently four profiles logged on and matching your specifications,” Jarvis stated and four faces appeared on the large screen in front of them.

“That's him!” Hermione exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at a man who looked the very image of innocence with his curly blond hair and baby blue eyes.

Phil didn't need to ask if she was sure. One glance at the hatred burning in her eyes was enough to confirm.

“Where is he?” Hermione demanded, but a second after, his image cut off.

“He was in a building complex in East Village, but if I may, his last exchange convened of a meeting with another user tonight.”

“He's going to do it. Tonight.”

Jarvis gave them the information and they had a couple of hours to kill, no pun intended, before the murder-date.

“How are you going to go about it?” Phil asked her once they were back in the drab hotel she was staying at in Hell's Kitchen. She had been so wrapped up in her anger she hadn't even protested him following her.

“I wanted to hurt him at first,” she said as she buried herself gathering her belongings. “Make him feel the pain he caused a hundredfold, make him beg for mercy, make him feel sorry for ever being born… I could. I know how. I  _ could _ do it.”

“But,” Phil prompted.

“She wouldn't have wanted that for me. She was a beautiful soul, Luna. Too good for this world. I-”

Her voice broke and a tear rolled down her cheek. Oh god, she was going to cry. Phil looked around the dismal room for a handkerchief, grateful when he spotted a tissue box on the nightstand, just in time to hand it to her when she began to sniffle. He had never been good with crying women, or even men. There was no training to deal with such situations and he usually managed to avoid them, but here, it was only him and Hermione.

“I'm the one who… who signed her up. On Lonely Hearts. She- It's my fault she died.”

Oh. He understood why she was devoting her life to this mission now, why she wasn't even taking care of herself, why she did everything with such single-minded focus. It wasn't good, of course. Not healthy for either body or mind, and cracks were finally starting to appear.

Hermione just stood there shaking and sniffling while tears rolled down her face. It took him no amount of courage to squeeze her shoulder in silent support of what she was going through, when he suddenly had an armful of her. Phil tentatively closed his arms around her while she wept against his chest. His suit was going to be a mess, but he didn't mind, not if it helped. She did not push him away this time either, so Phil adjusted his awkward embrace into a more comforting hug.

“It's not your fault,” he told her in a soothing voice. “You couldn't have known. Your friend, Luna, she would tell you the same, I'm sure.”

Phil didn't rush her. They had time before they needed to head out to stop a serial killer. He wondered if she had ever let herself cry before, or if she had gone straight into revenge overdrive and never looked back. Even so, fifteen minutes later, she shifted in his arms before stepping back to look up at him with reddened eyes and nose and splotchy by cheeks. In any other circumstances, he would have laughed at the sight. When she looked at the lapels of his suit she was still clinging to, her expression shifted from sheepish to horrified.

“Your suit…”

Phil looked down at himself. It looked as bad as the snotty handkerchief crumpled in her fist.

“It's quite alright.”

“No, it's not,” she chuckled, the sound more sad than amused. “Why are you always so… proper? It's damn annoying, even for me.”

Before Phil could reply, she let her hands wander down his messy shirt and suit. It might have provoked another reaction entirely if he hadn't been so stunned at seeing his clothes return to their pristine condition. Not just powers of invisibility… Maybe she had a whole array of powers. A fairy, then? Bit tall for a fairy, but what did he know?

“ _ Are _ you a fairy?” he asked, not realising he'd asked out loud before the words had tumbled out of his mouth.

“A fairy?” she repeated, then laughed.

Well, at least she wasn't crying anymore. Lesson learned.

“No, no. Not a fairy.” She beckoned him closer and he leaned over like a moth to a flame until he was close enough that she could whisper in his ear. “I'm a witch.”

The words sent tingles down his spine. She stepped back, looking at him with a smug expression, then began packing her room more earnestly, things flying all around the place at the beck and call of her wooden wand, before they disappeared into a tiny beaded bag that she slung over her shoulder. A witch! That certainly explained why he found himself so bewitched by her.

“Let's go kill that sack of dragon dung.”

 

+++

 

That is how Phil found himself in a restaurant having a date with no one, because Hermione was invisible so as not to attract their target's attention, and he looked like an utter moron talking to the empty chair in front of him.

“His date is at your six,” Phil muttered under his breath.

The woman he had spotted looked somewhat like her profile picture, if you squinted, and she kept glancing between her watch and the door, while the other potential victim had just been joined by a man who looked nothing like the killer.

“That's… not really his type,” Hermione whispered after a beat, the conversations around them drowning the fact there was no one visible to whisper in the first place. “Are you sure?”

“People lie all the time on these dating sites. She probably used an old picture of herself.”

“From a decade ago?”

Phil shrugged. 

“People do stupid things for love.”

An invisible hand on his own made him flinch in surprise. He wasn't used to people touching him and he usually had time to see it coming.

“He's here, looking in through the window,” she said.

Phil glanced up as casually as possible, catching a glimpse of blond curls.

“I see him. Wait… he's leaving.”

“Wanker,” she muttered and tugged his hand, urging him to follow her.

They were moving fast out of the restaurant, ignoring their waitress’ protest, and out into the street where they easily caught up to their target. He stopped suddenly, in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing people to move around him like a river around a rock. Phil wasn't sure what was going on, but his gun was at the ready if need be. Only in case of an emergency, mind, because he knew Hermione needed to deal with this on her own. He was only her back-up, her support, and he almost laughed at the fact he had already become her handler when he hadn't yet managed to put her in a SHIELD uniform. 

She had won, in the end. She had him wrapped around her little finger without much effort on her part, or protests on his.

When their target moved again, his movements were choppy and unnatural. He left the busy streets for a deserted alleyway where he turned around to face them but didn't say a word. It was very strange. Hermione reappeared next to him and still, the man didn't react.

“What's wrong with him?” Phil asked.

“I'm controlling him, his mind, but he's fighting me. I want him to be aware of the next part anyway,” she said and pointed her magic wand at him. “Expelliarmus.” Another wand flew from his jacket into Hermione’s outstretched hand. “Petrificus corpus. Hello Justin.”

The man's face morphed from utter apathy to rage in an instant, but he didn't move a finger against them. Phil had a sneaking suspicion he couldn't. All the things Hermione could do were amazing and quite frankly, terrifying.

“You can't do this to me, Granger. Let me go. Let me go or everyone will know  _ you _ killed me.”

“Whyever do you think anyone will learn of your passing? There won't be anything left of you to find and everyone will forget you ever existed.”

“You won't-”

“Avada kedavra,” Hermione snarled and a green light shot out from her wand, enveloping the target who crumpled on the ground as if his strings had suddenly been cut. It was a lacklustre death, to say the least. Then, Hermione transformed him into a pebble that she easily picked up.

“All I need now is a volcano,” she muttered as she put it in her pocket 

Phil wanted to pinch himself. Everything about this was beyond weird, and his brain was taking longer than usual accepting the facts.

“We have to leave. People will come investigating the dark magic soon,” she announced and put her arms around his waist before the world tried to squeeze him to death.

It didn't last long, thank God, and he was now on the other side of New York, looking at the calm waters of Brighton Beach under the moon. So… teleportation too.

“Is there anything you can't do?” he asked her.

“Well, I can't surprise you, for one.”

Oh, how very wrong she was. He just had exceptional control of his facial muscles.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She had just killed someone. It was only polite to ask. Hermione nodded and disentangled her arms from him before looking over the vast ocean before them.

“It's done. I can start… living again. I know I'm going to sound like a terrible person, but I'm relieved.”

“You would make a good agent.”

“Are you trying to recruit me Agent Agent?” 

She sounded playful now, even if her smile was a bit forced. He would love to recruit her. That had been his aim all along, but now… he wasn't so sure. He had no idea how Fury would deal with a witch, even more so because it appeared there were others, and now he knew he was fucked because Fury and SHIELD had always been his top priority and here he was letting this woman bewitch him so completely.

“Did you use magic on me?” 

He had to ask. If he was compromised, he had to know. He only hoped he would be able to tell if she lied. Hermione looked puzzled. If she was acting, she was good, better than Romanov herself.

“Oh! You mean the apparition?”

“Teleportation? Yes, but apart from that. To my mind, like you did to the target.”

“No! I would never- I know it's hard to believe, with what you've seen, but I'm a good witch.”

“I believe you.”

“You do? Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he said with a smile.

He'd figure this out. All in good time. He looked down at her when he felt her hand touch his cheek, wondering what she was up to now. On her toes, she stretched to kiss him on the cheek.

“Thank you, Phil. No one has believed in me in a very long time.”

“That's the first time you've called me by my name.”

“You've earned it. But I'm curious. Why would you think I messed with your mind?”

Ah. He had no ready answer for that. And the answers he had, well… he looked away. It was dark. There was no way she would see he was flustered. Phil Coulson did not do flustered.

“Phil?”

She'd made a spell out of his name. And this time, when he looked at her with a poorly crafted excuse at the tip of his tongue, he felt her lips on his, the lightest of touches before she backed off.

“Sorry,” she said. “I thought-”

Phil stopped her retreat, stopped her from apologizing when there was no reason to, because she  _ had _ thought correctly and he couldn't let her think otherwise. He couldn't let this chance at happiness escape him without a good reason, and he had no good reason. So he closed the distance between them, pulled her closer until she was flush against him and he could swear he felt her heartbeat against him, racing against his own. Her face felt so warm, he would bet his card collection she was bright red and all because of him. Dipping his head, he captured her lips. Pouty, he'd called them when he observed her in the interrogation room, but they were enthusiastically kissing him back now and that was a heady feeling he hadn't experienced in a very long time.

As romantic as a first kiss on the beach under the full moon was, Phil realized he had to break it off, just for now.

“What's wrong?” Hermione asked, sounding just breathless enough to make him feel smug.

“As much as I would love to take this further, my dear little witch, you do have a dead body in your pocket. You mentioned needing a volcano?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter was written as a oneshot, but this just wanted to be written down, so it is. There may be more later on.

Hermione had a second chance at life. That night, in a dark alleyway in New York, so very far from home, when green light from her wand struck true, she knew she could start living again and say farewell to the ghost of her friend.

Later that night, she opened her heart to the man who was always so bloody calm and never far from her side, however much she had tried to get rid of him in the past. And she had tried. She had run, and been rude, and lied, and tried everything short of cursing him, but he had stayed where so many had left, and so, she had taken a chance.

But she remained cautious. How could she not after everything she had gone through. Ridiculed and belittled. Goofy Granger she was called by the time she had left her country behind, but not in flight, in pursuit. She didn't even mind the nickname so much since it was so very close to Loony Lovegood. She wore it like a badge of honour.

Days later when he took her to a volcano, when he offered her her very own Mount Doom moment just so she could throw a pebble into the fiery pit, that day, she knew her heart belonged to Agent Phil Coulson of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.

 

+++

 

“Hey! New girl!”

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, and took a deep breath before turning around to face the archer with her sweetest smile.

“You call me new girl one more time, Agent Barton, and I will snap your arms off like the twigs they are and shove them up your perk little ass. We have names, use them, as SHIELD regulations specifies.”

Barton paused, then shook his head. 

“Nope. Sorry. You can insult me all you want, but with that ridiculous accent of yours, it just comes out as music to my ears.” 

“What do you want? I hope there was a point to all this? Contrary to  _ some _ people _ , _ I have actual work to do.” 

She shifted her cardboard box from one hip to the other. Clint looked inside and snorted.

“Paperwork. That's not work.”

“It's literally in the word, Barton. Paper- _ work _ . You'd know if you filed in your mission reports now and then.”

“You sound just like Coulson,” the archer muttered and Hermione bit back a smile because she couldn't help but think of that as a compliment.

However, Fury had only agreed to hire her if she and Phil kept their marriage a secret. Bad enough he had been dating a prospective asset without informing him, but a witch too, and an infamous one at that, but then he'd gone and married her  _ without _ inviting him. Phil had told her it was that last part that had annoyed Fury the most, which she was never going to believe. Fury was a scary man and she didn't frighten easy. Not to mention the man knew  _ everything. _ He shouldn't but he had found out about her somehow, and told her to keep her magic to herself, because he knew about the Statue of Secrecy and had no desire to muck around in that pot of voodoo. 

Hermione didn't mind. She had been hired as a an agent on her own merit, without the use of her magic. She had left that behind along with her name and her past, because that was the best way to take a second chance at life. So she had left her wand with Fury in exchange for a gun. It wasn't so different in the end: aim, shoot. It was easier actually since there were no latin incantations or fancy flicks of the hand needed. A gun was a straightforward, one-purpose tool. Aim, shoot. Easy as that. Of course, she wasn't much of a field agent, so she had never had to use it on a real person up to now.

She didn't mind keeping her marriage a secret either, nor did Phil and it all worked for the best. They could work together efficiently when needed, like any other agents, and no one was the wiser.

Hermione tossed her box of files at Barton who caught it easily with his ridiculous log-sized arms. She lied about them being twigs, they were huge and it was hard not to stare at them. Thank Merlin Phil wasn't here, or he would tease her mercilessly about it.

“If you're not going to tell me why you're pestering me, at least make yourself useful and carry that to my office.”

“The very fact you have an office on a helicarrier is just plain weird.”

“You think paperwork just disappears because we're-” Hermione gulped, not liking the reminder that she was miles up in the air in a floating, invisible boat. It was so much worse than riding a flying, invisible horse, because Thestral didn't crash and burn. She gulped. “Because we're up in the air.”

She turned around and stalked down the corridor, fully expecting agent Barton to follow despite him being higher up than she was in both seniority and level.

“That right there is what's wrong,” Barton said as he caught up to her. “You're scared.”

“I'm not scared of anything,” she scoffed and opened her office. A glorified cupboard really, but it had no windows so who was she to complain.

“You're scared of the Black Widow,” he argued.

“ _ Everyone _ is scared of the Black Widow. She almost ripped my arm off at combat training.”

“Ah, but she didn't, did she? See? She  _ could have,  _ but she  _ didn't.  _ Gentle as a lamb, Tasha.”

“You're full of shit, Barton. Now, get out of here before I tie you to a chair and make you write that report you should have handed in  _ a week _ ago.”

“Oh! Kinky! Tempting, but no. I'm on an official mission.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. He didn't seem to be lying and he didn't usually go out of his way to seek her out unless he was really, really bored and his psychotic assassin friend wasn't around.

“From whom?”

Barton leaned closer, then glanced around before whispering in her ear.

“Fury.”

“That sonofabitch!”

“Don't let him hear you say that. He has ears  _ everywhere. _ ”

Hermione sighed, looking forlornly at her files.

“What's the mission?”

Barton cleared his throat, then spoke in a low gravelly voice that was a fair imitation of their boss.

“You find that skittish owl and dangle her off the back of the fucking helicarrier until she stops screaming if you have to.” Barton peered at her, white face and all, before speaking in his own voice once more. “Fuck, no joke? You're really scared of  _ heights _ ? How did you survive this long up here?”

Hermione ignored him, too focused on not blowing up in anger and shame at Fury outing her irrational fear. She knew it was irrational, no need to broadcast it, and Barton was the worse gossip on the whole bloody helicarrier! He was snickering too, the bastard.

“This is just too funny.”

“It's not funny, and it's obviously a fake mission to get rid of you, so bugger off already.”

“Nope.”

“No? What do you mean, no? Just go. Shoo.”

She tried to wave him off, like a bumbling cornish pixie.

“Nope,” Barton said and popped the p with too much relish. “I have been given a direct order from the grand mogul, and I intend to fulfill that order to the best of my ability. But if you refuse, I will write you up like the bad, bad agent that you are. Form K-5, right?”

“GC-2,” Hermione corrected automatically. 

She couldn't see a way out of this. She'd been careful not to show her fear of heights, or rather, of falling. Phil knew, all the way back from their trip to the volcano, but he wouldn't have outed his own wife… would he? Of course, that didn't mean he wouldn't have outed  _ an agent _ , and they were so good at compartmentalizing.

“Why does Fury even care? I'm just a desk agent.”

Barton shrugged.

“I dunno. He must have seen you being jumpy. A jumpy agent makes other agents jumpy. It's not a good reaction to have spreading around an enclosed ship.”

“But you're not  _ really _ going to dangle me from the back of the helicarrier, right?”

“Only as a last resort,” Barton replied with a devilish smirk. “Come on, Agent Nightowl, let's cure you of that silly little fear. High places are awesome: fresh air, great views…”

 

+++

 

Barton was having way too much fun at her expense. He was trying not to laugh, but he was also failing miserably. Hermione could feel him shaking behind her like a fucking Jack-in-the-Box as he hummed a corny song under his breath, as if having him frog-march her to the edge of the helicarrier wasn't humiliating enough. At least he'd been smart enough to choose a spot out of the way so they didn't attract a crowd of sniggerring agents with too much time on their hands and too little brains to think better of it. They forgot all too easily their forms requesting leave all went through her hands at one point. Fools.

“Can you stop singing,” she gritted out through clenched teeth.

“Why? I think it's perfectly appropriate!” Barton pulled her arms up to either side of her and began singing more loudly as they neared the edge, wind whipping them in the face. “ _ Near, far, wherever you are…I believe that the heart does go on...” _

“Are you on drugs, agent? You're not making any sense.”

“Titanic! Don't tell me you haven't seen Titanic? It's a classic.”

Hermione shook her head. She was doing her best to catch up on all the muggle culture she had missed out on during her years in the wizarding world, and boy, had the muggle world been busy in that time, but movies, especially those about a sinking boat, had not been a priority.

“At least it distracted you enough. See, heights aren't so bad. Nothing to fear.”

“Uhu. Yeah. Great. Good job. Can we go now?”

Barton dropped her arms, but didn't say anything for a moment, which was very unlike him, so she took a tentative step back from where she knew there was a dead drop into nothingness, only to walk right into him.

“You're closing your eyes, aren't you?” Barton said flatly. “Open them, or I'll have to take Fury up on his suggestion.”

Hermione shook her head again, her eyes screwed shut. She could  _ feel _ the void at her feet, but was too terrified to open her eyes.

“I have rope right here,” Barton hissed in her ear.

He would do it too. He would do it and laugh and tell everyone and she would be the laughing stock of the helicarrier. She wouldn't have cared if it wasn't for Phil. She didn't want her actions to reflect negatively on her husband, even if there was only Fury who knew about their relationship. So she kept the image of Phil's smiling face in her mind and opened her eyes. Not slowly, but at once, like ripping off a bandaid.

_ It's not so bad _ , she thought at first. She saw clouds and a patch of ocean here and there, a tranquil landscape, beautiful in its own way, but suddenly, the void called to her and she thought she would tip over, her head dizzy, her legs shaking…

“Whoa there. Easy,” Barton said, one arm holding her up as she broke into a cold sweat. He slowly pulled her back, away from the terrifying drop. “Alright, you've got it pretty bad. We'll take it slow, but before you know it, you'll be skydiving and loving it, you'll see.”

Hermione doubted it, but she was relieved Barton wasn't brushing off her fear like Harry or Ron had always done, and he made good on his promise. Baby steps, one small challenge after another until she could walk by the bay windows without sticking to the far wall, looking only at her feet and bumping  more often than not into other agents. She even caught herself admiring the view a few times, but she was still far from wanting to strap a parachute to her back and jump into the void.

Barton was pleased with her progress however and they became friends of sorts, insofar as she could befriend a superior who was more often than not away on long missions. She found out Barton respected her husband's authority though, and that he, in turn, held the archer in high-esteem which helped her realize Barton wasn't just the goof he tried to paint himself as.

What she had never expected was for Agent Barton to be a turncoat.

 

+++

 

Phil had returned from his last mission the worse for wear. They met in her windowless office where hardly anyone came since all of SHIELD was on high alert, and because they wouldn't be going home anytime soon. It had been a long mission and she had worried, as she always did whenever he was in the field.

“What happened?” Hermione asked once she could bear to let him go. “Or can't you tell me?”

“I shouldn't. It’s way above your clearance level.”

“But?”

Phil forced a smile on his face but it was sad, he looked defeated, as if he had come back from a war on the losing side.

“I think we're going against something bigger than anything we've dealt with before. I have… a bad feeling, shall we say.”

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. Phil did not usually give much credence to gut instincts, he was far too prosaic for that. For him to admit as much, he had to be truly afraid of the oncoming storm.

“There's something else.” Phil fidgeted. “Agent Barton is compromised. I know you two are friends but he is not to be trusted anymore.”

“Compromised? Clint?”

It sounded ludicrous. It had to be a misunderstanding. The archer was an insufferable goofball, but he was a loyal SHIELD agent. She would have bet her life on it. Hell, she had done just that a few times as he trained her through her fear of heights.

“How do you mean?”

“This new threat, he took control of him somehow.”

“Mind control?” Her heart raced. She knew a spell which did exactly that. “It wasn't a wizard who did this, right?”

Phil shook his head and pulled her closer to him. Eyes closed, she inhaled deeply. His cologne, his own scent always soothed her, made her feel safe.

“No. He wasn't from this world, though I'm not sure that makes it any better. I'm… worried. Barton… I hate to ask, but if we get him back, can you-”

“Reverse the mind-control? I don't know. Maybe? But we'd have to get my wand back from Fury and he won't be happy about that.”

“I'll convince him. Nobody needs to know. Now, I'd better do damage control with Agent Romanov. She will not be happy about this.”

Hermione winced and wished him good luck, catching him before he opened the door for one last kiss. He looked so weary, she wished he could take break, but knew now was not the time. She hurried instead to her desk. Just because there was a crisis didn't mean the flow of paperwork stopped. If anything, it usually increased, before exploding during the aftermath into papery madness.

 

+++

 

Phil would pay for not telling her the whole truth. She might not be one for gossip, she might not be a high enough level agent to be briefed about everything, and she might not willfully go snoop into the SHIELD database, but most paperwork on the helicarrier did go through her hands, so how did he think she would  _ not _ be seeing the reports about the secret base in New Mexico wiped off the surface of the Earth, the same base where he and Clint had been stationed. Phil had gotten out by a hair's breadth, but many others hadn't been so lucky. The numbers were staggering. No wonder Phil was worried.

But Hermione couldn't go to him, especially not to scold him as his wife. She would just have to be patient, wait until this whole mess was dealt with, until they could meet back home and properly welcome each other, preferably naked and under the sheets.  _ Then _ , she would give him the lecture he deserved.

 

+++

 

The alarm that had been blaring ever since an explosion rocked the ship stopped and Hermione sighed in relief, righting her chair and falling back into it. She looked at the mess at her feet with a scowl It was going to take forever to file everything back where it belonged, but she wouldn't start until the helicarrier stopped tilting to the side quite as much. The reprieve didn't last long however.

“ _ Code Green… Code Green…” _

Hermione rolled her eyes at the disembodied, impersonal voice repeating its warning. As if she couldn't hear the inhuman roar resonating throughout the ship or feel her desk shake beneath her hands. Who was the idiot who thought having a giant rage monster aboard a flying ship was a good idea? She’d heard rumours about him and none of them good.

Code Green meant she should stay out of the way and hide, but seeing as she was already locked in and out of the way in her closet, aka her office, she saw little else she could do. She hoped Phil was safe, but Code Green probably meant a whole other protocol for him. Maybe just this once, she could eavesdrop on the com channel. She had the codes, she had a receptor. No one needed to know.

Hermione bit her lip.

“ _ Code Green… _ ”

Just this once.

 

+++

 

It was pandemonium on the coms. Hermione switched from one to the other, ears peeled for news of her husband until she heard it, the words she had hoped never to hear.

“Agent Coulson is down.”

The Director's voice was flat, but that didn't mean anything. Down could just mean injured and medics were on the way. They wouldn't bother with medics if he was…

Hermione held the receptor in her hands, her knuckles white as she held her breath, waiting for news, waiting for someone to give their bloody location so she could head over there, secrecy be damned.

“They called it.”

The same expressionless voice, but no, it couldn't be… he couldn't be talking about Phil. She stared at the com unit, willing it to say otherwise, to hear Phil's voice, to hear it had been a tasteless joke… she stared at it until she couldn't see it anymore through her tears.

_ No. You can't leave me. You promised. You promised I'd never be alone again. You promised! _

 


End file.
